


Black and Blue

by laEsmeralda



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: Ilius proves to be a more challenging environment than space, and Jim acquires a sudden reaction to something, and someone, he didn't expect.
Relationships: Amos Burton/Jim Holden
Comments: 40
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

Shame had blossomed through Jim a millisecond behind the consuming heat. 

Yes, the adrenaline had primed him, the speed and the fight to get here to _get Amos safe_ , the fearful anticipation, the discovery that of course, Amos didn’t need rescuing. The locking of eyes, seeing that Amos hadn’t been certain, didn’t expect help anytime soon, let alone that it would be Jim. And then, the spark of _mine_ that Jim knows he showed Amos along with exposed canines, and Amos’ never-veiled reaction, this time, a nonverbal, _Wow_ , in the form of slightly raised eyebrows.

Any of that could trigger something else primal. But. It wasn’t until later, when Amos changed shirts and Jim saw and registered the bruises, the damage, that his cock stirred. His whole self rejected that response on the spot, attempted to cast it out, to obliterate it with godawful feelings. He busied himself and hoped, prayed that Amos couldn’t sense it or see his skin redden with desire and self-loathing.  
*******

Later, he goes over it, as he does, always ruminating, over-analyzing. Never, ever has he been turned on by pain—his, a lover’s, anyone’s. He tried S&M—probably not at all doing it right—to spice things up with a former partner and found what they did not to his taste. Based on his limited understanding of dom-sub politics, he knows he doesn’t ever try to alpha up on Amos. The man insisted that Jim should be followed more than anything Jim did to take the role, in fact, Jim had remained downright reluctant. It seemed like a tacit agreement between them that an intelligent weapon probably shouldn't run things. 

He has never not noticed that Amos keeps an impossible physique in space. While Jim is not so absolutely het as to remain unmoved, the thoughts have always been fleeting and quickly dispatched, not to cross his mind again until months at a time have passed. Even in space, there are pheromones to account for such moments. 

He’s fairly sure he doesn’t feel angry at Amos or subconsciously want him punished for anything. He surreptitiously watches Amos interact with Wei. She kind of pushes Amos around in a no-nonsense way, and he sees Amos take to it and follow. Like with Naomi. But as he belatedly learned, with Naomi, it wasn’t truly sexual for Amos. He just appreciates (and maybe needs) strong women in a variety of roles. 

Jim tests himself, being around to catch another glimpse at the black and blue and purple and yellow skin over a peck, contrasted with Amos’ thick upper arm. _Shit, there it is again_ , in the pit of his stomach, a rush of his heart to supply other areas just in case. He makes himself a bit more busy, more scarce, if such is possible in a tiny compound. 

Walking back from a late meeting, he freezes at the sound of Amos’ voice, a different sound than he’s heard before. It’s low and intense—that’s not uncommon—but he’s not speaking. It isn’t until Jim hears a slightly higher tone that he realizes he’s walking by them having sex just on the other side of a tent wall. His eyes sweep the camp, low-light and bright lights making it difficult to be sure he’s alone, but he’s relatively sure. So he stays put, trying to master his own breath so he can overhear, his skin hot from embarrassment at himself. There’s nothing coarse or brutal about Amos’ voice, maybe Jim had imagined that the soft-spoken gentleness was a front until Amos’ guard would let down in private, letting loose the beast they all see during battle. Instead, he sounds needful, grateful, vulnerable, and suddenly Jim is there and Amos is underneath and then Amos comes and Jim nearly does. He stands shaking, mastering himself, for perhaps another thirty seconds. When he can hear them murmuring together, he walks on. He does not relieve the tension in any way.

He has only been asleep a little while when Miller wakes him. “You got it bad, kid.”

Muzzy but instantly back from a faraway dream, Jim sits up. He doesn’t ask _what_ and he doesn’t try to argue. He rubs a hand over his face. “I’m not myself.”

“Oh, I gotta beg to differ on that one. You just don’t understand yourself.”

“I’m not interested in hurting my friend.”

“’Course not,” Miller agrees affably.

Jim absorbs that, nods in relief. “So, what the fuck? And since when are you my shrink?”

“Gotta keep you together in one piece. Selfish motives, really.”

“Letting me sleep for several hours at a time would go a long way.”

“Hmm. Noted. But you weren’t sleeping well anyway.”

“We have to talk about the machines.”

“Oh, there’s time for that. This is actually more time sensitive.”

“Really. Well, okay, whacha got for me?” Jim replies, sarcastically.

“You do any guys before? Never mind, I see from your face that it isn’t a novelty. How would you describe the depth of your relationship with Amos?”

Jim flashes on them forehead to forehead, Amos’ hand clasping Jim’s neck, keeping him close. Amos uses role words most of the time, _Cap_ , at the good moments, _brother_ at the better ones. _Holden_ , and then _Jim_ once in a great while—more often of late.

“Right. Deep. But Amos isn’t a talker, can’t express himself that way to the breadth that you and I can. Leads to undercurrents. Vibration. Subtext. You’re observant. So you feel it.”

Jim nods. It makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is the unseemly thrill he feels at the terrible marks on his friend. He forces himself to say it aloud, even though that’s unnecessary with the construct. “I don’t get why the bruises are hot.” His voice cracks on the last word.

Miller regards him from his slouch, his expression droll. 

“Yes, obviously I need it spelled out or I’d already fucking know.”

“Think about how he got them.”

“Threw himself in Murtry’s way so Naomi could get away.”

“Didn’t hesitate.” 

Something begins to stir, molten, but not specific to his cock this time, it starts in his chest. “He’s put himself in harms way to protect one or all of us a bunch of times. Never felt like… this.” 

The apparition of Miller shrugs. “You’re in the habit of thinking of Amos’ strength, the danger that you have to keep in check. You know the why of him—he’s about protection for others. Keeping him on a tight leash—you don’t just protect others from him because he might go too far in the heat of the moment, you protect him. He likes that. He’s not used to it. You do it out of habit though, like you would for anyone. Now suddenly, you realize, he isn’t a machine, he can be hurt. This time, you came back as fast as you could because you were afraid for _him_ , specifically. The wear and tear—it’s a connection to what’s inside, what he doesn’t talk about. Amos’ language is his physicality. What’s it saying to you now?”

It’s a whole lot of words even for talkative Miller. But it all makes sense. All of it. For a change. “Thanks,” Jim says.

“I’ll let you sleep now. See that you do.”  
*******

Jim is trying to make a passable caffeinated drink from a variety of hand-marked canisters when Amos claps him on the shoulder and then catches the small pot. 

“Sorry, man, didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Jim can hear the smile in his voice and turns, putting them a little too close. Amos doesn’t step back. Instead, he leans a hip on the counter and tips his head down, confidentially. There are only two other occupants of the mess and no one is paying any mind.

“Not that I mind starring in some porn, Cap, but I thought you should know that when you walk by a tent in the dead of night and stop walking, it’s kinda obvious.”

Jim absently wonders how one’s mouth can go in a heartbeat from watering for the semblance of coffee to drier than the Ilus outback. He wants to say, _How did you know it was me_ , but has the good sense not to. “Sorry. I was startled to hear your voice, ah, not where you sleep.” It’s true but it doesn’t explain standing there. “I think I’m supposed to say some brotherhood thing like, ‘Way to go’ or ‘Good for you.’” 

Amos regards him soberly, eyes unflinching. “Except, that’s not at all the nature of our relationship.”

“Yeah.” He takes his time pouring the pleasingly dark brown substance into a cup. “How about this, then. I’m aware that, despite several offers made not so discreetly shipboard and at stop-offs, you’ve not gotten laid in a really long time. I’m glad you are. You especially liked that pastor. I got the sense that if she were into men at all, she’d have gone for you.”

Amos’ gaze softens a little. “Didn’t know you noticed. Where’s your bunk?”

A variety of monosyllabic possible responses flash through him unuttered. Amos knows darn well where he and Naomi were bunking. As ambassador, he’s been reallocated a tiny utility hut with actual walls.

Chuckling, Amos, continues, “Alls I mean is I think there’s a few things left to say that you, at least, would rather be said in private.” 

In a surreal docility, Jim grabs his mug and leads the way. They’re silent, and the camp remains quiet in the dim morning. 

As the door swings shut, Amos folds his arms. “Look, one advantage to not having a normal sense of fear is that I’m not afraid to talk about hard stuff. But I do consider the consequences for others of having a talk, so sometimes I just don’t.”

“What hard stuff is on your mind?” It’s the last thing Jim would say had he thought about it first.

The grin doesn’t move down from Amos’ eyes but it’s plenty obvious. “You know I’ve got a rule that I don’t mess with my fellow crew. That’s been an easy rule to keep until lately. Came in handy too when that creepy reporter duo wanted to fuck me.” 

Jim smiles, “Yeah—they got their virgin spacewalk instead.” Inside, he notes the _easy rule_ confirmation that Amos never much wanted to fuck Naomi. Or Alex for that matter. And although he’s trying like hell to read the subtext, he’s not sure how the rule might turn out to have applied to himself.

There’s a long silence. Amos just looks at him, easily, and not for the first time, Jim has the impression of a loyal dog patiently reading him. 

But this animal has intelligence far surpassing his ability with words and should never be underestimated. Jim feels a responsibility to take over the lead in this conversation since his own behavior created the need, but fear is definitely stopping him. He clears his throat. “I’m guessing that you’ve noticed me looking at you in a different way since I came back for you.”

“Yeah,” Amos says, softly. “You seem to prefer me black and blue.” There’s nothing accusatory or judgmental in it, just an observation. 

Jim shakes his head firmly in denial. His palms are sweating. And his underarms. He even feels a trickle slide down the small of his back. “Why is this so fucking hard?” he queries out loud.

Amos shrugs. “I’m trying to make it easier. Sorry I’m not better at it.”

There is it, the stab of desire. And suddenly, Jim thinks he gets it. It isn’t just Amos throwing himself in Murtry’s way. Amos has shown vulnerability—the wounds. Pain. Pleasure. Now, uncertainty. “Oh, no, that’s not it.” Jim steps forward. Then back again. “You’re so tough, so… indominable. Like if we built a perfect protector and _installed_ a human consciousness. It’s been hard to find a way in.”

“You want a way in?” Amos seems genuinely surprised.

“The day you called me ‘brother,’ that was so awesome.” The lameness of the statement isn’t lost on him. But Amos doesn’t demand erudition or words that have to be looked up. “I replay that in my head pretty much every day. When I thought you were here hurt, in what’s now basically an enemy camp, alone, I went out of my mind.”

“Yeah, you came up in here in a fury, didn’t you.” It isn’t a question. 

“Of course, you were _fine_. I thought, ‘Amos is practically a machine. Doesn’t need me.’ Put me in my place.”

“Don’t they say it’s the thought that counts? Counted for me.”

“I didn’t understand at first, why the marks… why they—”

“—turn you on?” 

Amos does the worst jobs for him, always. He gathers himself enough to look Amos in the eye again. “Yeah.”

Amos strips off his jacket, yanks up his t-shirt. “How ‘bout now.”

Jim doesn’t look down, but he still has to close his eyes, the wave rolling through him. “I’m glad they’re fading.” He hears Amos walk the few steps to close the distance. 

“You said you didn’t understand. Do you understand?”

Jim opens his eyes, makes a start of it. “You don’t feel fear. You don’t much show anger, just a violence reflex when needed. Loyalty isn’t an emotion. I’ve never seen you cry.”

“Pain isn’t an emotion, Jim. Neither is damage.”

He actually trembles in response to his name in Amos’ voice. “When you saw me, when you saw that I came for you….”

“Yeah, and that look you gave me back.” Amos swallows, heavily.

“And just now, your expression….” Jim can’t help it. He leans forward and touches Amos’ lips with his. There’s a kiss. A sweet, soft little greeting that isn’t of the brotherhood kind. It ends as gently as it started. Jim feels the tension in the shoulder where one of his hands rests and realizes that Amos is now holding himself at bay. He slowly backs away, just enough to see Amos’ face more clearly. “Later, when you took off your shirt, and I saw the bruises, I felt so many things all at the same time. Foremost, that I want to kill that fucker with my bare hands. But right behind it… Jesus.”

“Yeah. That.”

He forces himself to look right into Amos’ calm, unflinching eyes. “When they were causing all that damage, where did you go?” Jim understands that this is not something Amos is going to answer in words, but he has to ask the question. “Normally, you go wherever you always do to bear it. I’m willing to bet, this time, you thought of me instead.”

Amos’ eyes are his only answer.

“That’s what I saw,” Jim nods, “not the bruises, but your expression while you watched me see them.”

Amos sighs, long and deeply, resigned. “So, what do I do? I’ve got this rule. And there’s Naomi. Already got a kiss between us now. More’s a bigger problem.”

“I’ll tell her that it just happened, and I’ll tell her why. That a problem for you?” he challenges. He doesn’t say, won’t say, that when Naomi first started gracing Jim’s bed, she had asked something he’d have never predicted. _If Amos ever comes to you for sex, and I’m not saying he ever will, please try not to reject him._ Jim hadn’t reacted with revulsion, only surprise. For reasons that she could not share—not hers to share—she would be good with it. After his initial bemusement, he had filed the conversation away in the _irrelevant, shred later_ mental drawer. They hadn’t discussed how good she’d be with it if Jim was so into it that he could hardly hold back.

Amos starts to reach, falters, drops his hand. “What about the other part?”

Jim knows the need to compartmentalize, knows that it’s even more important for Amos than others. “Off the ship, I’m an ambassador and you’re part of the ambassadorial team. I’m not your shipmate or captain.”

“You’re always my captain,” Amos whispers. 

That’s also hot, in some far recess of Jim’s overheated mind that’s marching to the front. He tries again. “Rules have context. I’m giving you context. Please take it.” Amos’s smell, those damn pheromones, have had time to gather and weave around him in close quarters. The fact that Amos let him _kiss him_ , that he was so open to it, is pounding in his chest. He tries not to think about the future, being in the Roci for months again together, not able to break this rule, for all their sakes. It still seems worth it.

“Okay.” Amos’ body relaxes. “At least you know it isn’t that I’m all pent up with no place to go.” 

It’s a strange admission for the man to make, shedding the last possible pretense of something general and making it specific to Jim. One hand comes up to cup the back of Jim’s head. This time, it isn’t just warm and belonging like the few times before. Jim feels the simple touch on the back of his neck all the way down his spine. He moves in a sudden rush, bringing them together, his teeth grazing Amos’ neck. A responsive noise from Amos causes ripples in his belly. And it’s just the beginning.

“Fucking hell, Holden, you’ve got a big dick.” 

Which makes it bigger. He knows the name slip is intentional, Amos giving him some cover. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, Burton,” he retorts.

“Soft in the zero G shower doesn’t give away much.”

“Dunno, gave me a pretty accurate idea.” He goes bolder, grasping Amos through his clothes. “Can’t really pay you a compliment now without it seeming hollow. How about this? I don’t think I can take you.”

“Chicken,” Amos says, not sounding at all disappointed. Which is illuminating. 

“Didn’t say I wouldn’t ever try,” Jim adds.

Amos goes full inarticulate at that. For an extended period during which most clothing comes off. Jim thinks he might still be wearing his left sock.

Since Jim hasn’t spent time daydreaming any of this, he certainly never expects Amos to push him down, mount his cock, and ride. He doesn’t even worry about the sounds and doesn’t have the awareness to be grateful for the containment of the hut. He holds off for Amos to come first, shooting with both Jim’s hands wrapped around him, the deep squeezing making it impossible for Jim to wait to hear every last cry and whimper before he loses it too.

One of the bigger surprises is that Amos stays entangled, doesn’t jump to his feet and dress. They don’t speak, but it’s an easier silence than they’ve shared in a long time. Jim takes enormous comfort in the steady, slow heartbeat—they’ve all four made jokes about the sociopathic nature of Amos’ pulse—but now, Jim has felt it in overdrive and been here for it to return to baseline, just one indication that everything will somehow be okay. 

Finally, Jim says, “Breakfast? I’m starving.”

“You know me,” Amos replies, starting to put on his pants. 

And Jim concludes that against overwhelming odds, maybe he does a little.  
*******


	2. Making Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amos' defense mechanisms make room for Jim.

Amos doesn’t analyze how he feels with Jim any more than he analyzes how he feels with Chandra. Women, men, neutral, fluid, it’s all good. As long as he doesn’t think about why it’s good and bolts as soon as it isn’t.

If he keeps to the existence of the majority of animals, using his considerable intelligence for survival, taking in stride hunger, exhaustion, pain, lust, and their satisfaction, otherwise remaining alert and ready, life is reasonable. Trying to move beyond that, into intellectual consciousness, only leads to a screaming beast of pain, and to vast quantities of drugs and alcohol and anonymous sex needed to subdue it.

For the same reason, he tries to love those with whom he feels no lust, and fuck where there’s no love… despite all the efforts to the contrary expended in seasoning him as a child. 

Most of the time, his reconstructed walls are fortress-level. Sometimes, not. 

In the devastation of his falling out with Naomi, he still had the safe space that she was never entangled with his sexual release. But other things were lost. Her guidance, which he had too-blindly trusted but still needs. And her heartbeat. She had been the only one he let hold him in that way that normal children would seek, to which adults return with a homing instinct with their families and lovers. That’s been gone for a year. Even as they forgive and work their way toward some new version of their bond, he knows not to try to go there.

He doesn’t associate Wei with this secret desire to be sheltered. She’s got that breezy way of soldiers about a good fuck and she keeps the pleasure separate from talking. Even though she likes to look in his eyes during, it doesn’t worry him, it just feels good. Oh, they talk, and he has told her some things he doesn’t tell people. But never in any proximity to sex. He likes that she takes what she wants and he never has to worry about interpreting her signals.

This thing with Jim… _shit, this lock is jamming, better take it apart and see what’s up._  
*******

He awakens, finds himself slung against Jim’s side. Somehow, in sleep, Jim’s arm holds still holds tension around him. _You can’t trust_ … he shuts the basement door on the inner voice and lets himself float in the bliss. 

If he happens to sleep with another person with whom he’s fucking, and they haven’t just had sex, he’s instantly ready again upon awakening. Often, not always, the other person senses it and responds. He observes now, in that animal way, that he isn’t getting hard even though he’s pressed against Jim’s nicely muscled thigh. He notices that his skin is extra alive wherever it touches Jim, so he’s still receptive, the spark isn’t gone. 

The curve of Jim’s chest, falling away to his overly hollow stomach and onward to his groin, just barely under the sheet, should inspire something. Then, he realizes that against his skull, he can feel the blunted edge of the small medication port under Jim’s skin. It’s an unwelcome reminder. Jim might find Amos’ vulnerability sexy, but the feeling is not mutual. Sensing Jim’s tenuous hold on life doesn’t make Amos afraid, just apprehensive, and he takes being on watch seriously, he never fucks around when he’s supposed to pay attention. 

Carefully, he shifts up to his elbow, scans Jim’s shadowed face. It’s good to see the cares erased, stillness and repose replacing the near-constant scowl. That’s hot, because relaxed Jim gets horny while stressed Jim runs around finding heroic things to do. A moment’s study of Jim’s lips reminds him that this guy is surprisingly talented. Maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise exactly, but it was. A flush runs from the pit of his stomach to his dick at the recollection of his fingers tangling in Jim’s lush hair—more of necessity to orient himself in space than to control anything—while Jim’s mouth worked him better than he’s ever had. He’s come standing plenty of times in and out of gravity—opportunistic sex rarely comes with a bed—but his balance seemed challenged this time, maybe because the noises made his legs shake. The bed was there but they hadn’t made it that far. He doesn’t remember anything after coming, must have collapsed right into sleep. Jim must have taken off his boots and socks for him.

“Mm,” mumbles Jim, eyes fluttering open. “Nice alarm you’ve got there.” He flexes his thigh against Amos’s hardness.

“Sorry,” Amos replies earnestly, “Didn’t mean to wake you.” He leans over to place a thankful kiss on those lips. Jim surges up and then pulls him down, arms coming around him, mouth welcoming. He’s so gentle yet so solid. Amos’ eyes feel wet. He ignores whatever is happening in his fool head and concentrates on getting overwhelmed by the slide of his dickhead along different textures. Jim says _cock_ instead of _dick_ , and Amos likes how that sounds in Jim’s voice. A hand grasps him and squeezes just right. “Wait,” he gasps, pushing back from the kiss. “Don’t go and do that again.”

“Do what?” Jim seems confused, no doubt instantly worried that he did something wrong. 

Well, he kinda did. “Make me come so hard I can’t reciprocate,” Amos growls. “Once in awhile is awesome. Twice in two days makes me rude.” The sound of a soft chuckle makes Amos smile. 

“I think you’re just overused,” Jim jokes. But the crack obviously forces Jim into Jim mode and his tone changes. “Speaking of that, does Wei know? If she needs to. Just asking.”

Amos sighs, “Yeah, but she doesn’t know it’s _you_. I told her that fucking after such a long time without makes me want it _all_ , and with due respect to her abilities, she can’t spring a dick.” He reflects, dipping a toe just past instinct. “True enough. I think she’s fine with it. You fine with it?” 

Jim rolls him, Amos lets him, feels Jim’s thighs close around his as Jim sits on the back of his legs. Hands stroke the small of his back and over his ass. _Don’t!_ interjects the voice, growling, because Amos isn’t drunk or high, but then it softens, _it’s okay, it’s Jim,_ and falls silent.

“This is mind-boggling.” Jim gives a squeeze with both hands. “Impossible to not notice. Did you ever catch me looking?”

Amos’ brow furrows in momentary concentration, searching, almost hoping. “Nope,” he concludes. 

“Who knew your skin would be so soft?” Jim’s weight lifts a bit and then his _cock_ fits along the deep groove and the weight comes back, accompanied by a quiet groan and a few slow strokes. Lips lightly touch the nape of Amos’ neck, raising gooseflesh. “I’m sorry that I just went for it last night, I didn’t find out what you were into.” 

Amos smiles against the rough sheet. “I think you’re confused. Usually, when a guy ‘goes for it,’ it’s to get his own rocks off.”

“I want you to feel good. You’re so stoic.”

Amos struggles for a moment to find the words. He twists enough to sort of see Jim’s face from the edge of one eye. “Best blow ever, man.” He’s gratified by the responding grin. “It’s only…” The voice silently surges up and he says aloud, “I want to touch you back.”

Jim slips down beside him, face up. “This time, don’t just impale yourself. Don’t get me wrong--”

“—I needed to. It was for me.” 

“Okay.” Jim waits, a soft smile curling one side of his mouth.

Amos reaches out, tracing with just the tips of his fingers, along collarbones, throat, sternum. It becomes almost hypnotic. He senses Jim watching his eyes while his own gaze follows his fingers along Jim’s skin. He has so many _skills_ , but to employ them means to switch to automatic, to go further away from Jim and he wants to be close. He pushes his mind away and just touches. His fingertips tantalize along Jim’s cock and it jumps, trying to find its way to his full grasp. Jim’s thighs shift apart. Amos brushes his balls, tight already. He hears how fast Jim is breathing. “Shhh,” he soothes, fingers questing behind, not looking to penetrate, finding the broad root, something he has learned on himself and not with anyone else. 

“Oh my _God_ ,” Jim exclaims, heels digging into the cot. 

This delights Amos, the discovery that this is that good for Jim, it isn’t just a weird thing that he does alone. Something private that he _can_ share. He slides down and takes Jim in his mouth, salty, the moisture light. It feels right, it fits even as it doesn’t. He imagines the combination will work fast. It isn’t that he’s in a hurry, he’s just looking to give Jim the best rush ever. Most of the movement happens with his hand, pressing gently and steadily, carefully because he knows how strong he is. As much as he realizes he wants to taste, he pulls off at the last moment, grasping instead with his other hand, because he’d rather see. And damn if seeing doesn’t bring him too.

As they’re wiping off, well it seems— _everything_ , they don’t talk. With the damp blanket kicked off, they flop back side by side. Amos senses that Jim has questions he isn’t asking. That’s okay, a guy can cultivate a little mystery. He’s content to lie still and feel Jim’s arm along his.  
*******


End file.
